Only You
by ChasingRainbows90
Summary: Three parter - Jac, Jonny and Bonnie
1. Chapter 1

**This was originally a one shot but it kinda grew so it's now a three parter which is nearly completely written (part three just needs an ending) so hopefully it'll all be up in a couple of days. I hope this is ok :)**

**This is set after Heart of Hope but uses Jac's 'original' dates and not the new Holby dates as given in Fait Acomplii.**

"Good morning," it's come as something of a surprise to her how natural it seems to be to talking to her as yet unborn daughter. While she had once admonished the child's father for doing something similar, claiming the baby would be unable to hear him – a fact she still stood by given her gestation at that point – she herself had started to fall in to habit now the weeks had progressed. Come to think of it, it's something of a role reversal. She cannot remember the last time the father had tried to engage with the bump, or at least not in the way he had done before. Then again she also can't really remember the last time she'd actually let him near enough to do so.

"Alright, I'm moving" With a sigh she rolls her body slightly more to the side and swings her legs out over the side of her bed. She wants nothing more than to stay curled up on her bed, having found a position that is actually comfortable but she knows that soon her alarm clock will blare alerting her to the fact she has to get up for work anyway. Her daughter it seems has learnt the routine and has started to wake her ahead of the alarm, perhaps knowing that it takes her mother just that little bit longer to rouse herself in to action. Another movement in her uterus, aimed firmly against her bladder, makes her move that little bit faster.

"Me and you are going to be having words, young lady," Finally she's standing up right, her balance gained. Getting up, especially from her bed, is no longer an easy feat, something which is especially cruel when lying there is something she craves yet an experience which rarely lasts because her bladder is her daughter's favourite toy currently. Indeed she finds herself now waddling as fast as she can manage towards her bathroom, for fear her daughter will aim another jab at the now battered organ and cause it to leak.

Once she has managed to relieve herself, she allows her hand to drop to the point where she had last felt her girl's movements. A small smile plays against her lips as she caresses the spot. In the private of her own home, she is unreserved in her affection for the bump. At work, in public, she tries to resist the temptation to stroke the stretched skin or to smile when she feels those movements that let her know her daughter is still here, still fighting.

Slowly she gets herself ready for the day. She pulls on clothes that despite being from a maternity range and purchased only weeks before already feel tight and uncomfortable over a bump that seems to be forever increasing in size. It's become something of a routine to change in to scrubs as soon as she can, because the shapeless uniform is one of the only items of clothing she has found to be comfortable and even in those she knows it is only a matter of time before she has to source the next size up – a request she is dreading having to make.

And yet in spite of her annoyance about clothes sizes, she cannot resist having a biscuit or two with the tea she drinks given that coffee is still very much off the menu. Her daughter is seems already has a sweet tooth and she is finding it near impossible to ignore the cravings for it. When her daughter is big enough, she is certain they'll have to avoid anywhere selling confectionary because the child will beg for it, lips pouted and eyes begging and it'll take all her effort to refuse. As she thinks of it, a sob rises in her throat as it always does when thoughts of the future settle over her, the thoughts that come when for a moment she forgets that her daughter may not have a future at all.

She swallows the sob away, as she drains the last of her drink and washes the cup alongside the bowl from which she'd eaten her breakfast. Before her daughter, she hadn't lived like this. Breakfast was a meal eaten on the run, a coffee grabbed from Pulses as she made her way up on to the ward. In truth, she hadn't really taken care of herself properly. She looked after patients but didn't do the same for herself. Even now she isn't really doing so, every effort she makes is for the baby. It is the baby, she supposes, who is looking after her in a strange way.

She makes her way from her flat to the outside of her building. As she does most mornings, she casts a glance in the direction of her dear, rather abandoned bike. Though her helmet had rather mysteriously disappeared, the bike had somehow managed to get back to its former home while she had slept, and now she finds herself looking at it with a hint of sadness that she can no longer ride it but knowing all the while that it's for the best.

"The things I do for you," she whispers the words, as she runs her fingers delicately over the slope of her abdomen, turning her gaze away from the bike. She has thought about how she would ride it now that she is indeed an egg on legs – she doubts she could even get on it let alone earn her balance enough to ride safely. Some days she barely feels able to drive her car, and there have been days when she has considered a taxi, though that would be admitting defeat and she has no desire to do that. But it is getting harder to squeeze herself behind the wheel, and even more of a performance getting herself out. In another life perhaps her child's father, or maybe even her partner, would have driven her – not that she is one for that sort of thing but she can definitely see the appeal of it.

By the time she has completed the drive to work, she wishes she could turn around a drive back. She flexes her hands, and once she has managed to free herself she stretches out the rest of her body. But she doesn't quite manage to work out the kinks before she is having to waddle once again in the direction of the ladies. As she washes her hands, she surveys herself in the mirror. The effects of pregnancy evident beyond the rounded abdomen. What she sees looking back at her makes her feel all the worse.

As she steps back out in the hospital entrance, she is greeted by an all too familiar sound. It seems to her that wherever she goes within the hospital, she is now followed by the laughter of Darwin's newest recruit. Somehow their schedules seem to have been aligned, something which she thinks is down to the Scottish nurse, whose shifts also seem to match her own.

"Morning Ms Naylor," somehow the nurse seems not to get the message, and offers the bright morning greeting. Without caffeine on board, it is something that she cannot quite take. In fact she'd rather be stuck in a lift with the perpetually happy blonde who'd recently left, or indeed Christine Williams, over this particular nurse.

"Can you hold the lift?" Thankfully she is saved from having to spend the journey to Darwin alone with her, by the rather breathless shout of the professor, who bumbles inside just in time. He offers the pair of them a smile but no further conversation as he tries desperately to catch his breath. With a smile she notes he carries with him a box of donuts, no doubt a treat for them to share later on. It's become something of a habit for the pair of them.

Stepping out on to the ward, she takes a quick glance at the patient board, trying to note any overnight changes that she needs to be immediately aware of before she makes her way to her office to check her e-mails – though in reality she will use the time to have a little rest. As she passes the desk, she is offered a smile by the registrar, one which she returns. It's strange this almost friendship that has developed between them.

She stays in the office as long as she can, rereading e-mails that only really required a cursory glance. She'd even read through the hospital newsletter, discovering that whats her name – the auxiliary girl - had completed an NVQ course and was now of a slightly higher banding. Well if anything it meant she'd be able to boss her about to do a little bit more. But there had been something else that had caught her eye and caused her to swallow hard, a notice of a staff member having delivered a baby boy. It was another reminder, that perhaps no such notice would be placed for her, and her daughter – not that she wanted it of course but still. For her little girl, there may be a note of condolence, offering a fake sympathy for a consultant not much liked though she knew it would be genuine for the nurse who was much better received by his colleagues.

Finally though she has to head back out, and is almost immediately ambushed by the F1 who proceeds to reel off information from rounds – though with her own thoughts related to the psychology states of the patients added. It is a habit she is going to have to get out of the girl, for it is started to grate, prolonging the time they have to spend together if nothing else. When eventually she stops, she has to resist sending her on some ridiculous task that has no real purpose other than her own amusement like the skeleton puzzle which the F1 had completed rather satisfactorily. She'd almost been tempted to ask her to recreate it – though in a much more cartoon fashion – in the nursery she was planning. But the nursery plans existed only inside of her head, and there they would stay until the day she knew she'd be carrying her daughter home from the hospital in her arms.

"Jac," she is pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a Scottish nurse and for a moment her heartbeat quickens, not to mention the wriggling from her daughter. There is no doubt that the little girl knows her fathers voice, though her mother tries to reason it is a reaction to her increased heart rate that causes the movement rather than recognition. She looks up at him and tries to muster a glare, "Mrs Ellison in bed three wants a quick word" and with that he is gone. He had said he'd pretty much given up talking to her, and true to that conversation had been limited ever since.

She waddles over to the patient, listening to what she has to say and wondering why on earth F1 or even Mo couldn't have dealt with this. As she walks away, she places a hand to the small of her back, a niggling ache choosing that moment to flare up a little. She closes her eyes for a second, as she arches her spine while simultaneously trying to add pressure with her hand and suppress a groan. She tries to avoid public displays such as this but her daughter's timing skills are as yet rather under-developed.

"You know if you worked on your posture you'd improve the back pain," her eyes dart open at the voice. The nurse is watching her careful, head tilted slightly to one side. There's something resembling concern in her face, though it could just as easily be faked as real – a part of the sunshine and flowers routine that she has gotten down so well. It's a wonder she doesn't have cartoon animals appearing to make beds for her, and dance around that pretty little head of hers or that she doesn't randomly burst in to song at any given moment.

"And you've had how many babies?" it's the first words the come to her, and she says them with as much bite as she can muster. With a hint of regret she pulls her hand away from her still aching spine, not wanting to give any more ammunition to the nurse. Seemingly though the girl doesn't actually notice, but rather continues to smile that smile of hers.

"When my sister was pregnant with Chloe, she found that correcting her posture was an absolute miracle when it came to her back," she reaches up to twirl a stand of hair around her finger, "and Chloe pretty much stayed in the perfect position after that" she adds, sounding rather pleased with herself.

"And?" she sounds disinterested, bored by what the nurse has to say. But still the nurse smiles.

"Well you don't want all that difficult back labour, and you're back won't hurt so much" the nurse shakes her head a little like she cannot understand why the consultant is being so dense about this when it is all the consultant can do not to create something of a scene on the ward, "and it'll stop you waddling quite so much, I mean honestly, it can't be easy for you being so big an' all" it's almost too much by that point.

"I'm sorry?" She has to fight not to react now. She flexes her hands, trying to resist balling them in to fists not that, that will do much good anyway. She sighs, frustrated.

"Well it's obvious you can't do things like you used too," the nurse needs to shut up now but somehow she doesn't seem to understand that. She's surprised there isn't a gathering crowd, waiting to see what'll happen when the consultant explodes, "But I can help. Saffy was so grateful, she even recommends me to her friends now" again the pride in her voice. It's grating on the consultants last nerves.

"I think I've heard enough," she could explode, everything that she's wanted to say could come out now but she isn't up to it and she starts to turn. She sees though the face of the nurse brighten, something which shouldn't be possible. She shakes her head as she starts to walk away, only as she turns towards her office she realises that the nurse has tagged along beside her.

"To start, you're posture really isn't helping," the nurse sounds overly confident in her assessment, the words coming easily, "If you relaxed your shoulders, and drew in your tummy it would make a good start" the consultant pauses, turning to look at the nurse, who seemingly is entirely unaware that her input is neither wanted nor required. She raises an eyebrow, mustering a glare at the younger woman.

"Have you thought about aquanatal or antenatal yoga at all?" the nurse however seems to take little notice, "there's research to suggest it can improve back pain, and what they teach you might make you more comfortable" but the very idea of having to stand around a bunch of pregnant women is the last thing to consultant wants to do, she'd braved the one antenatal class but no more. It had been altogether too much. Besides which she had no intention of bearing her bump in such a way.

"My friend Amelia runs classes at the gym on Wyvern Way, I could get her to fit you in" the nurse continues her chatter.

"I don't think so," she shakes her head at the very idea of it. Its ridiculous to even have suggested it. The nurse nods.

"Oh I didn't even think," its one of the few things she's ever said that Jac can even slightly agree with, the nurse doesn't seem to think all that much, "I suppose I could ask Amelia if she can give you private sessions given you're situation" she says it delicately, unlike the way she has spread the news previously.

"That isn't going to happen and I would appreciate it if you would keep your nose out of my business" she starts to walk away again, needing the sanctuary of her office and hopefully one of Elliot's donuts. But she finds herself pausing when a shift kick is aimed at her insides, in time with a twinge in her lower spine. The next thing she knows there are hands placed against her back.

"You are so tense," the nurse obviously hasn't gotten the message at all, and whirling around altogether too quickly the consultant finds herself facing the woman, "I'm due my break in a little bit, perhaps I could offer you a massage – I've done a course" once again the nurses hands come in to contact with her body. It comes as no surprise that this is yet another course the nurse has done to add to her complementary therapy or mumbo jumbo repertoire.

"Don't touch me," her voice is low. Without warning, she flicks out her arm to push the nurse away from her body, but the nurse is quicker and manages to step away. "I don't need your help" the baby kicks again, and she places a hand to her abdomen trying to still the child for a moment. Only the kick is altogether too well aimed, and she flushes slightly as she feels her bladder leak.

"Are you suffering with incontinence?" the nurse speaks quietly, "I've got some information on pelvis floor exercises too that I can go over with you, I've helped Amelia teach it numerous times" the consultant starts to slip away in the direction of the changing room to locate a fresh pad and a change of underwear and trousers.

"Of course there's no need to be embarrassed, it happens to loads of women," the nurse is still following her, "I mean you have got quite a bit of pressure on your bladder, and you do seem to be quite big for your dates though you might just look bigger because you really aren't helping yourself pushing your bump out like that, and your poor back" the endless rabbiting is enough to bring her to the end of her tether. She's had enough of this now, the advice that she doesn't want because nothing can make this better.

"Aren't there any patients you can go annoy?" she locates what she needs in the changing room stuffed into a bag which she slings over her arm and starts to make her way to the ladies, all too aware that her shadow hasn't actually left her.

"Everyone is sorted," a hand comes to rest on her arm, "I just want to help you Jac" There's something so innocent about her, and the way she says it. But she doesn't want anything from this nurse.

"I don't need any help," there's a soft laugh from the nurse.

"Everyone needs help sometimes," the hand on her arm gives a gentle squeeze like that is meant to help or convince her, "look why don't you get yourself sorted out and I'll make you a nice drink and we'll sort out this massage and I'll give you some pointers to make life a bit easier for you,"

"Maybe you don't understand me, nurse," the consultant stalls and looks at the nurse, "I do not need help, specifically I do not need your help so why don't you go back to I don't know spreading pixie dust around the ward or whatever it is that you actually do,"

"Jac, I'm only trying to help with your …. Issues" again the hand squeezes gently on her arm.

"Just leave me alone," this time when the consultant goes to push the nurse away, she isn't quite prepared and instead of managing to avoid it, she finds herself stumbling backwards just as the Scottish one appears, a dark look passing across his face, "and do not touch me again" and with that the consultant stalks away, still clutching her bag and trying to ignore the sound of her name being called in that accent. An arm slips under the swell of her bump, a cradle of sorts.

"We don't need them, baby, we don't need anyone" she whispers, trying to convince herself of the truth in the words. Quietly she slips in to the staff toilets, swallowing hard to try to combat the rush of emotions that have chosen that moment to wash over her. Once the door is locked, and before she goes to change she pulls her abdomen in and tries to align her head, shoulders and hips. She shakes her head slightly at having even tried it.

Having changed, she slips back to the ward and the sanctuary of her office. Thankfully avoiding the nursing twosome. As she settles herself in to her chair, she tries to stretch out the sore and aching parts of her body. Before shaking her head, and sighing. She doesn't understand how some women can enjoy pregnancy – not with all the aches and pains not to mention embarrassing problems it seems to cause, yet she would prolong it for a lifetime if it meant keeping her daughter safe within her body. She runs her fingers over the swell of her abdomen, and closes her eyes planning to rest ahead of the afternoons work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to anyone who has read part one of this and I hope part 2 is ok :)**

"Are you ok?" Realising that calling after the consultant is a rather fruitless endeavour the Scottish nurse returned to the side of his girlfriend, who was pressed up against a wall; her eyes were stretched wide, and her body shook ever so slightly. Still she manages to nod and flashes him a small smile. He places an arm around her body, pulling her away from the wall and in to his embrace. Almost instantly, her body relaxes against his. It's strange how different it feels holding Bonnie to Jac. With the consultant, she would go through a cycle of being tense and relaxed as though fighting against whatever it was that she was feeling whereas Bonnie just gave herself to the embrace.

"I just thought I could help," she speaks softly against his chest, and he can feel the warmth of her breath through the material of his top. He has tried to tell her numerous times to leave Jac alone as much as possible, but he knows the caring nature of his partner and how in the right circumstance she wouldn't have been able to resist helping.

"I know," he tries to sound reassuring, and he finds himself rubbing his hands over her spine, "and maybe she'll take note of it" he adds, trying to force his voice to sound hopeful. He knows it's fake, that any advice offered by a nurse is unlikely to be taken seriously by the consultant. He is certain he could supply her with endless reams of evidence to back up the claims and she would still find an argument against it simply because, as the consultant, she has to be right. Her desire for control and power scares him at times, because she knows that in their current situation she truly has none.

"I suppose," her voice sounds brighter as she pulls away from her, the smile on her face much more genuine. It strikes him as the two of them start to walk back to the ward, his arm now draped more loosely around her, that he doesn't quite have the urge to keep her in his arms as he had done with Jac. He doesn't doubt that he has feelings for Bonnie but they lack the intensity of those he had experienced previously. His one time friend though is so much safer, and altogether more willing to reciprocate. He has wondered in the dark whether he is cheating her, that her feelings run deeper than his and that he cannot match that. She seems not to notice though, or choses not too, "You two are in theatre together later right?"

"You don't want to come in do you?" A current of panic runs through him. It doesn't end well having the two of them together, especially within the somewhat cramped confines of an operating theatre and a hoard of willing gossips waiting for some entertainment.

"No," she laughs, "I was just thinking maybe you could have a word with her," he considers laughing here as though she has told a great joke but he knows that she is serious. He hates that the relationship he has with the mother of his child has deteriorated to the point where having a conversation doesn't seem like a viable option but somehow that is the case.

"I don't think that'll work" he knows he is partly to blame for this state of affairs. He'd hurt her more than he wanted to admit when he had placed her key back in her office without a word of explanation. He'd known it was cowardly to do it in the way that he had but he'd seen no other option. He couldn't face her for fear of what he would do or say, and yet it had hurt to leave hurt to do it. And now he has gotten together with Bonnie, and she sees the two of them on the ward. He supposes she sees them as happy and loved up too. He's wondered if perhaps they are rubbing it in her face, whether it increases her feelings of being alone. Though she seems incapable of understanding how not to be that way. But still it has led to this. A situation where they barely talk despite the fact their baby is less than a month away from the date on which she will be forced in to the world. They should have been talking about a nursery and whether he would be staying with her during the induction and the labour – he wanted to be there but had no real idea if she'd actually let him. Instead any talking they do is pretty much limited to the professional. He finds himself being dragged in to the staff room.

"You can't just let her do this without you," she wriggles away from him and busies herself making a hot drink. He thinks that perhaps he has painted this a little bit wrong for her benefit. He doesn't really admit to anyone that he has partly given up making an effort. He makes sure she's ok from a distance, questioning Mo to the point where he is certain she wishes to kill him or slipping an extra drink to Elliot so that he knows she will at least drink something. He wants to help her, to be involved but he is never quite sure how. It's true that Jac is evasive and resistant to his efforts – and that is what he has made clear to Bonnie – but he knows too that she tends to have her reasons for doing so; not that he really understands them.

"I'm trying," the words come quietly, and he finds he almost chokes on them. It isn't a lie, but it isn't exactly the truth either.

"It's your baby as much as it is hers, Jonny," she turns back to look at him as the kettle boils, she offers him a smile, "you have rights" she adds with a nod of her head. He frowns a little as he thinks of it. If it came to it, would he evoke those rights? He doesn't doubt he'd fight tooth and nail for his daughter but would it ever go so far that he'd have to use the law to gain access to the little girl – if she even survived for that to happen. Could it be that he would be denied even meeting his daughter in life because she chooses to keep him away. He can't imagine she'd do that, and yet she has pushed him out in recent weeks. He has seen the smile that graces her lips when the baby moves, and longed to reach out to place a hand on hers to feel it but he daren't and even when he is close by she doesn't offer, nor does she offer him any updates on how they are doing. He is surprised that she'd even let him in on the meeting with Mr T when they were given the induction date; though he believes it was the obstetrician that had made it happen.

"Don't you think I know this?" he sounds more bitter than he'd intended. He wishes the situation was different. He shouldn't be stood here with the woman who doesn't have the swollen abdomen, it shouldn't be this woman he describes as his girlfriend or who he falls in to bed with each night. In the ideal world, he would be returning home to his pregnant partner, falling asleep with his hands rested on the swell in order to feel their daughter kick and roll. He would be able to whisper to them as he falls asleep that he loves them both, his girls. But this world is far from perfect. He feels the ache in his chest, the love for his daughter and the fear for the future. He feels to the love for the mother of his child, a love that leaves scars across the surface of his heart, wrapping themselves around the organ, constricting it until it each beat is enough to destroy him. But he has to learn to live with it.

"Your daughter is going to need you Jonny," she has a cup in hand now, though he cannot recall her actually making the drink. It's becoming so much more real, the baby is no longer an abstract concept. Even when the rounding of Jac's stomach had become obvious, it still hadn't quite felt real. He loved the idea of the baby, but it felt strange to think that he would be a father, that he would hold in his arms a tiny human whose creation he was at least partly responsible for. When they'd received that crushing diagnosis he hadn't known what to do, the baby he'd imagined flickered in his brain. The uncertainty of the future scared him, and he'd wanted nothing more than to escape, to go back to the days when he'd been carefree, when his worries had been small compared to this. Perhaps that was why he had sought sanctuary with Bonnie; a throwback to those days and someone altogether safe. She would be a constant in a world that seemed to spin too quickly for him to keep balance, though she was never quite what he needed, "she's going to need your love"

He doesn't know how to respond to her, but something in her words strikes him. The way she says them, and a look in her eyes. Does she doubt the love Jac has for her child? He has talked of their relationship, of how the consultant can seem so incapable of certain emotions that perhaps it has led her to come to such a conclusion. He cannot deny that Bonnie will have seen Jac at work, seen how she can be cold in practice. But he has seen her in other moments, the ones where the mask slips and she allows feelings to come in to play. She had once uttered those three little words to him, and he had failed to say them in return. But it had shown him something that he'd never thought he would see and that had given him hope of a future, of a life he had always dreamed of – one which he had never known, and which he doubted she had either.

"I can't do this," he shakes his head, as he glances down at the floor. He doesn't want to be having this conversation. He fears what he'll say to her. He's said things he's regretted before, not necessarily because they weren't the truth but because they removed his safety net. He doesn't know that she'd take him back again, and he doesn't think he can face that.

"You don't have any choice," she moves closer to him, hands still clasped around her cup, "You've got so much love for your daughter, and she deserves to know that" his daughter will never be anything but loved. It is one thing of which he is sure. So many people care already for the child who is not yet born, and while she is limited in blood relations, it is more than made up for in the family which they have created. No matter how long, or short, her life is destined to be, he is certain that she will never want for family.

"And she will," he answers gently, swallowing back the tears that threaten to come. If she is destined to grow up, he wonders how life will be. Would Bonnie become stepmother to his daughter, would they perhaps give her half-siblings in the years to come? Should his little girl not make it, he wonders would he feel guilty for having children in the future, fearing they would be seen as a replacement for his firstborn. And what would become of the consultant, this child, her miracle and seemingly only chance of motherhood. How would she cope if she was torn away from her, and yet seeing him be able to extend his family? Would she feel isolated within this strange little family that exists on their ward? Does she already feel that way? He has so many questions with no answers, and no way of getting them.

"You're sure of that?" she is in front of him now. He needs her to drop this because in truth while she is thinking of the baby girl, his mind had changed tracks. He is once more thinking of the flame haired consultant and how she is feeling. She is the only one who can understand the thoughts in his head, and yet they have not sought each other out – or they have ignored the need to do so. He has tried to ignore his worry for her, fearing becoming involved once more and the pain that it could lead too. And yet the pain is there regardless.

"Just let it go" he steps back away from her, her closeness is too much right now. It seems to be suffocating him. She narrows her eyes a little, and twists her lips together in thought.

"You can't just ignore this," she shakes her head a little, "I hate what this is doing to you, to us Jonny. I want us, you, to be happy" she's so innocent, childlike and yet he knows there is more beneath that. He remembers her from old, and how she could be when the mood took her. Like him, like Jac, she can pretend to be what she wants you to see though he knows deep down she is a good person but she can use that to her advantage.

"Happy? My daughter is likely to die, how on earth do you expect me to be happy?" the words come out before he can stop them, and he finds himself breathing heavily. He hates saying the words, the admission of his daughter's prognosis, and yet everything rests on that fact. If it wasn't for that, he wouldn't have wanted Bonnie and what she could offer him. If it wasn't for that diagnosis, he wouldn't have seen the haunted looked in the consultants eyes and known his showed the same, nor would he have seen the doubt in her face that he wanted this child. A doubt he knows she still holds, despite his assertion that he wants their little girl more than anything in this world – though in truth that desire may actually be second to wanting her mother.

"Jonny," she starts to talk but he cannot let her.

"I love my daughter, but I am terrified and I don't know what to do because I cannot fix this" he looks away from her for a second, "and I look at her mother, and I see the pain she is trying to hide – that other people seem not to see – and I can't take that away from her, no matter how much I want too"

"And what about me?" her voice shakes a little as she asks the question, and he turns back to her. For a moment not quite comprehending what she can even mean, "How do you think I feel not being able to help you, and knowing that the only thing that you actually want is your daughter and the only person who can give you that makes you more depressed than I've ever known you to be?"

"Jac doesn't …" he tails off, not quite knowing where to go with it. Bonnie has seen him in the nights when it gets too much, and has heard much of the story of 'janny' as Mo had once christened them.

"All I'm trying to do is making things better for you, and it's not enough is it?" she shakes her head sadly, "I love you Jonny, I want to be with you and have done since we met but I can't make you happy"

"Not now, maybe" he speaks in a rush, "but I can't be happy now but in the future, we could have it all" he sounds desperate, and he knows it.

"But it won't be, because I am never going to be Jac and I am never going to be the mother of this baby" she looks down, as she does so she thinks she sees his mouth move but no words reach her ears.

"love you" her eyes dart upwards to meet his face and then at his hip, his bleeper makes its noise and he pulls it free. Saved by the bell, "I'm needed in theatre" and with that he takes his leave.

As he steps in to the theatre, he is immediately struck by the fact Jac is nowhere to be seen but instead Professor Hope is stood over the patient, with Mo opposite him. A cold dart of panic slices his spine. She should have been here. He moves closer to the table, to Mo.

"Where's Jac?" he tries to sound indifferent, but he cannot quite disguise how he feels. He knows the consultant – it would take something important, something seriously wrong for her not to be operating.

"I'm covering for Jac," the professor speaks softly, looking upwards. There is no desperate panic or concern in his eyes, relieving the fear that there is something going on with the baby. If that were the case, the older man would not be so calm and nor he realises would his best friend. And yet that doesn't ease the feeling in his chest, because still something has to be wrong and if it isn't the baby then it has to be Jac herself.

"I …" he tries to speak but somehow the words don't come. He's frozen by a fear he doesn't want to acknowledge, or feelings he is unwilling to really accept. He looks in to the eyes of the kindly professor who gives him a small smile.

"I fear you are going to be no use to use Nurse Maconie," the voice is wise, "and I'm sure we can manage without you" and with that he is dismissed from the theatre and he does not argue. He knows he should, that he should stay but there is something altogether more important and so he goes.

On Darwin he finds Bonnie seated at the desk, a group of nurses and auxiliaries huddled around her. He recognises a few of them as people who are often found huddled together, the linchpins of the legendary gossip network that extends throughout Holby City Hospital.

"I hear she's planning to hand the baby over to you two anyway," he catches the words spoken by a youngish nurse whose name he doesn't know. He sees the way Bonnie's lips twist together.

"Probably best for the baby," another one adds with a smile.

"You can't deny how much Jonny loves his daughter" those are the words that come from Bonnie's mouth, "he all but proposed to me today, obviously we won't do anything for a while because of the baby and needing to concentrate our energies on her, but it's in the future and he told me he loved me" the words gush from her and he sees the obvious happiness in her face.

"You're going to have it all" someone tells her and her smile widens at the very idea of it.

"And just imagine your children" at this he almost expects her face to split open completely, for a second though he cannot be certain he isn't imagining it he thinks a hand slips for a second to her abdomen before they fold in to a cradle across her chest.

"I heard Professor Hope won't let her in to surgery" the speaker leans further over the desk, a move which is copied by the others. He watches Bonnie closely as she nods her head slightly, seemingly enjoying the attention. She always had enjoyed being centre stage, and here she is the keeper of gossip.

"Rumour has it. It's because he's worried she'll piss herself" this from another of the notorious gossips, but the expression that passes over Bonnie's face is enough to wordlessly validate what was suggested. Though it may have been unintentional – she had always been a nightmare for giving stuff away from her expression – still she had once again given ammunition against Jac.

Pulling his gaze away from the desk and the huddle of gossips, he thinks he sees a flash of red before he hears a door slam closed, and with a flash of horror he realises that she's probably heard every word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well I'll be honest this didn't end quite as I planned - I think maybe writing at this hour wasn't my best idea :-/ But this is the last part of this and I hope that it's ok :-) Thank you to anyone who has read it. **

She shouldn't let it affect her. She'd known all along that it was going to happen. He was the type of man who was destined to have that life, the cottage with roses around the door and a swing in the back garden. They'd be a dopey dog running about the place, followed by a gaggle of children all with his curly hair. In the kitchen, his wife would watch with a smile on her face, and he would come up behind her and wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck. Her body would probably be soft from bearing his many children, chances are her abdomen would have a slight swell as she grew the next within her. That was the life that he should lead – a life that was never going to be hers, though once he had suggested it.

This child, the one she hadn't even known she wanted, was her one chance. Perhaps she could conceive again but she cannot quite imagine herself in bed with another man but she knows she was 'lucky' for it to have happened this time. All those times they had slept together, and yet it was that one night, that occurred after they'd separated, that placed an embryo in to her uterus. A night when she had felt no need to take precautions because her chances of conceiving had dropped even lower due to her then recently discovered condition – which combined with her age – made motherhood seem like an unlikely event. And yet it had happened, and now she was rounded with that child. Her body no longer truly her own, as the child played havoc with not only her shape but also her emotions. And still, in the cruellest of twists, motherhood may still evade her because of that hole in her daughter's tiny diaphragm.

"Stay with me baby" she whispers the words to her daughter, as she rests a hand against the swell of her abdomen. She's lost count of the times she has spoken the words aloud, or let them roll silently around. A prayer, a wish. She places something in the words; the hope that something will let it happen. She has never been one for higher beings but she would plead with them all, believe in them with all her might, should they grant her daughter her life. If she could, she would lay down her own if it meant her daughter would grow up.

She knows by now, the nurses words will have spread around the hospital and it will be alight with even more gossip than before. It is something of an event, Jac Naylor not operating when she was supposed to. Not that they have the correct reason this time, not that they did previously either. But still she imagines the idea of her pissing herself is causing a wave of delight through the hospital. She hears the door opening, and groans.

"Just go away," she speaks without even looking at whoever has chosen to walk in uninvited. If it's the nurse come to offer another massage, she is not sure she can be held responsible for her actions. She silently begs her child's forgiveness should she accidently kill the nurse, and as the child rolls inside of her, she takes this as an okay. The door closes and she smiles, guessing that whoever it was has seen fit to leave her be.

"You weren't in theatre" she curses at the sound of a voice, though she has to praise his skills. On turn she finds he is leaning against her desk, having gotten there without her noticing. There's something like concern in his face, concern she has no doubt is for the baby and not her. As everyone knows, the baby is his priority, that and building up his new life. One she hopes involves their little girl.

"Very observant nurse Maconie," it's patronising and she knows it but it doesn't matter much. He doesn't seem to take much heed of it, "but as you can see I am not pushing out the baby, so you are free to go" she adds, hoping he will get the message. She wants nothing more than to be in the theatre, to have a scalpel in hand. That is a world in which she has the control, one in which her thoughts related only to the body before her and the task at hand. In that environment she doesn't have to worry about 50/50 odds, and whether tiny lungs are developing enough or whether she will get to cradle her daughter in her arms because her thoughts are tied up elsewhere. The theatre offers her an escape, but it is one that was not open for her today. He starts to move away but rather than going to the door, he settles himself on her sofa, hands covering his face for a moment.

"I was worried about you, Jac," she scoffs as he speaks. She doubts he thinks much of her now, she is little more than an incubator for their child now that there is another female on the scene. It had hurt how quickly she could be replaced in his life, how he had gone from trying so hard with her to nothing. He had given up at the point when she had started to let him back in and for the life of her she doesn't truly understand why. But still she is taunted by the key that lies abandoned in her desk drawer, "I knew it wasn't the baby"

"How?" she asks gently, she doesn't want to let herself believe that he is here for her but it strikes her this is the most they have spoken in weeks. His lips twist in to something resembling a small smile.

"Elliot was far too calm," she understands the smile now. Though she is not entirely sure how he is going to react, she is certain that the old man will leave no doubt in anyone's mind that baby Naylor is on the way. Sometimes she imagines him flapping about in a panic, probably envisioning having to deliver the baby himself because she has denied that she is in labour but other times she sees him practically bursting with pride, though his eyes hold a pain from not knowing what will be. Though she has not discussed it with him, she has spoken to her daughter about her grandpa Elliot knowing that he deserves the honorary title, just as Sacha will be an uncle of sorts to the child.

"So why are you here?" it doesn't make much sense. He has made it so very clear that he is over her, that he has all but given up with her and yet here is his sitting so close with that look of concern despite knowing the baby is still in the safety of her womb. He runs a hand through his hair.

"I was worried something was wrong with you," he sounds sincere enough, but she doesn't want to trust it. Her daughter wriggles and she rubs the spot gently. She wonders if this is her daughter's way of telling her to give daddy a chance, but then what does somebody not yet born know?

"Or you've heard the rumours that I'm banned from theatre because there's a risk of me leaving behind a puddle and you wanted to get it confirmed" her words come out bitterly, and she swallows hard, "Probably so you can tell you're fiancé and she can get it spread round the hospital from the horse's mouth" if only the nurse hadn't been there this morning she would have been none the wiser. She wouldn't have been privy to the fact that her bladder is weaker than it had been previously.

"I had no idea," he sounds genuine enough but then he'd once told her he was a compulsive liar as well. It makes a man hard to trust when those were some of the first words that came from his mouth, and yet she had tried to trust him, had come so close to doing it completely and then she had hit self destruct and somewhere along the way he'd started to help her.

"So you're fiancé didn't tell you that she was witness to it this morning?" she flushes a little at the admission, "because she seems to be letting everybody else know" she adds, making it clear that she knew exactly what had been going on at the desk. He tried to fix his expression in to one of surprise but failed, giving away that he too was aware of Bonnie's actions not so long before.

"She didn't tell me anything, Jac," and that surprises him a little given she'd tried to convince him that she was trying to help, it seemed bizarre she didn't offer this little insight in to Jac's condition when she was all too willing to confirm it to a group of gossips, "are you ok?" he adds it suddenly concerned that it's more of a problem than she's actually letting on.

"It wasn't anything major" she says softly, "the baby just caught me right and it happened, but it's fine and I'm dealing with it" it's an inconvenience yes she cannot deny that but she's also aware it could be a lot worse. Unlike what the gossip seems to be suggesting she is not leaving a trial of urine wherever she goes, or puddles in the places she stands. It's hardly even a regular occurrence, and if it does happen she is well prepared with a change of clothes on standby.

"So that's not why you're not in theatre?" he sound surprised, and then a realisation dawns in his face presumably his mind settling on the fact that something else must be wrong beyond the leaking.

"No, as far as I know Elliot doesn't know about that particular problem," she sighs a little, "But by the end of today, that won't be the case" she hates her private life being the subject of hospital gossip. The fact that people will be talking about her with no idea as to the truth of the matter, and it seems that at least in recent weeks the source of such tales has been the woman to whom he's attached himself. Like her daughter's condition suddenly being common knowledge and the fact she'd spent days having to dodge faux sympathy and well wishes from people who just didn't have a clue.

"Then what's going on Jac?" he shifts forward, to rest his elbows on his knees, twisting his body awkwardly so that he is still facing her. She sighs.

"It doesn't matter," she could talk to him but being open worries her. It's not that her problem embarrasses her, but it feels strange that suddenly he is here and interested and that causes a rise of suspicion in her chest. She knows that he asks after her, indeed she's heard Mo telling him to 'shut up and ask her yourself' more times than she cares to remember but he never does. Instead he slopes away and gives her peace before he starts up again.

"I might be able to help you," he offers her a smile, "I know I'm just a nurse but I do have my uses" She can't deny that's true and that in some ways she's missed it. She knows that if things were different he would be looking after her, that she would face absolutely nothing alone but because things aren't that way she fears letting him help. If she becomes reliant on him, then what'll she do when he's no longer around because she knows he won't stick around forever. She knows because he is no longer her Jonny.

"Surely your fiancé needs you and your uses," again a bitterness to her words that in so many ways gives away her feelings towards him. She sees his brow crease.

"She's not my fiancé"

"Not yet maybe," she shakes her head a little. It doesn't really matter if the ring isn't on her finger yet, it will be soon enough. It seems like the end of this particular story is already written. The prince has found his princess and no doubt they'll live happily ever after – or perhaps they are the king and queen, and her daughter the princess and she the wicked queen. Whatever, everything seems to have a foregone conclusion.

"I'm not so sure," he sighs, and again rakes his fingers through his hair, "and you are evading what I asked, just tell me what's wrong Jac?"

"I can't operate," she says it quietly, an admission she hates to make, "I physically cannot operate" it pains her saying the words.

"But why?" he sounds confused, and she sighs.

"Carpel Tunnel Syndrome" she whispers, looking down at the hands she has rested on her lap. The hands which thanks to the fluid she has retained and pressure on the nerve prevent her from being able to do her job. She flexes the fingers, "It's been plaguing me for weeks, but today I couldn't" she pauses, and sighs.

"Couldn't what Jac?" his voice is soft.

"I couldn't hold a scalpel" she says it quickly, the words running together. Surgery is the one thing she can do, the one thing where she is unrivalled and unquestioned. It is her place, the place where she has the control and no even that has been taken away from her and it hurts. It hurts to admit, that now she cannot even do that. The scot leans further forward, an eyebrow raised, though he makes no attempt at speaking, "I probably could've done it, but Elliot caught me trying to manipulate the scalpel, trying to make my stupid fingers work properly."

"Maybe it's a sign Jac," he swallows, like he's about to say something that scares him. She raises an eyebrow to match his own, a challenging to him to open his mouth and get on with whatever he has to say. But he makes no further move to talk.

"A sign for what exactly?" she talks because he won't. She reaches out and makes a grab towards the pen that lies abandoned on her desk. She'd thrown it there in a fit of temper when she hadn't been able to grip it tightly enough earlier. She allows it to rest in the palm of her hand, staring at it.

"That you should stop working," he gets the words out and she has to force herself not to react as she wants to. She could scream at him, she could hurl abuse at him but instead she feels the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She swallows hard.

"There is no way that is going to happen," she cannot bear the idea of stopping work. As much as it leaves her exhausted, and she has to literally drag herself from her bed, she cannot imagine herself not coming here.

"Jac, if you can't operate …" he starts to talk, and the sensation in her stomach worsens. The idea of not operating, of not entering her domain until this resolves itself scares her. The fact that her fingers could remain like this until her daughter makes her way in to the world, and that there is a risk may not resolve itself after, that potentially she may not be able to go in to theatre for some time. And yet her body was cruel, because sometimes it wasn't so bad like that morning and she would have been able to operate. But what if it went wrong while she was in theatre, and she was forced to abandon her post, or worse made a mistake that could cost her patient dearly. So what use was she?

"I'm not stopping work," there's a desperation in her tone, the need for him to tell her that she doesn't have too. That actually she does still have her use here, and yet if she can't operate then even F1 is more use than her.

"No one will think any less of you" he tries to keep his voice level, a reasonable tone. She knows too that he is right, no one will judge her because she has taken leave ahead of her daughter's birth, or that is no one but herself will judge her. And altogether that is the crux of the issue, her own sense of failure if she cannot quite live up to her own standards.

"No?" she raises an eyebrow, "Connie Beauchamp worked up until the day she delivered her daughter, and the same is true of Chrissie Williams" But then she knows with those two women it was taken out of their hands but still her point held they had worked until the date of the child's birth - quite literally.

"But most normal people don't," he bites a little, frustrated by her but not quite able to see that there might be something more to her resistance than meets the eyes, "My sister Lucy, she was like you and thought she could do it all but y'know what Jac, she got to 36 weeks and she couldn't do it anymore and nobody judged her for that"

"Do you want me to give her a medal or something?" she shakes her head. Somehow between his sisters, Jonny has a story for most occasions, particularly when he wants to get his own way with something or to make a point about a 'female' issue.

"There's no shame in needing a break," he runs his fingers through his hair once more, as though trying to drag forward the next part of his argument in to the forefront of his mind, "in fact they have this thing now called maternity leave, perhaps you've heard of it?" he tries to smile, that boyish smile that she had once loved so much - though equally found infuriating.

"I'm needed here, Jonny," it's an old trick, switching focus away from herself and on to the ward which she has come to love. The ward which is very much her home, though not a conventional one. Perhaps that would have changed with the arrival of her daughter; home becoming the place in which she lived rather than the place in which she worked. But in the confines of her flat she didn't really have much of a life, but here, here she lived the life which had once seemed to object of her dreams. and it seemed that now her daughter wouldn't change it either.

"But if you can't operate," he goes back to that fact and she curses him for it, seemingly outloud based on his reaction though she hadn't intended to do so.

"There's other things I can do," she rolls the pen slightly in her hand, not quite daring to allow her fingers to close around it, to test whether she can even grip that enough to write. She looks down at her hand, a hand visibly swollen or at least to her eyes. Finally she glances up to meet his eyes, and the soft expression there.

"Like what Jac?" but she cannot answer him, "you won't be able to do any clinical procedures if you don't have the ability to hold the equipment and if you can't even hold your pen, you aren't going to be able to fill in notes and we've all seen it, Jac, your struggling to get through each day," he's not taunting her, not like the little voice in her mind that cruelly shouts each thing she cannot currently do at her.

"I'm fine," she says it as convincingly as she can manage, though she knows it falls short by the way he raises his eyebrow and tilts his head slightly to one side. She knows that he would never have believed her anyway, even if she had been more successful with the lie.

"Jac, sweetheart," it startles the pair of them how easily that come from his lips, "you look exhausted,"

"Thanks for that," she recovers enough to respond, but still she cannot quite ignore how she felt in the moment he'd used that term towards her.

"I didn't mean it like that," he slowly exhales, even she has to admit there is something of a weary tone to his voice, "You know I didn't mean it like that but Jac, you need to take care of yourself, this isn't doing you any good."

"and why does it matter to you?" The words are desperate, filled with too many emotions to name. Her eyes flash with them, each one battling for dominance though she tries valiantly to try to contain each one, to push it back from where it came but it's all together too late, for he has seen what she tries so hard to conceal.

"You're carrying my, our, daughter, Jac," he says it like it's something she's forgotten, like somehow she can ignore the increasing weight in her uterus or the oh so pleasant symptoms the child causes her.

"and I am doing my best for her," the words come in a plea. She needs him to validate this, because try as she might it hards to believe that she is doing so, not when there is so much uncertainty. Already she feels she has let the baby down, already she has failed to protect her and yet there was nothing she could have done. And now, what more can she do now when the die already seems to have been cast.

"But what about you Jac?" he says it like he's talking to a small child and yet it doesn't make any sense to her. Evidently her face but show the confusion because once again he sighs softly, "I don't doubt you are doing your best for our daughter Jac but you have to take care of yourself too"

"Why?" she blinks, "Why this sudden interest in my well-being as well as the baby's?" she understands his concern for the child, of course she does but that is all that should matter to him now, and she has not doubted that it is - until now and she cannot let herself have that doubt. Not given he has declared loved for another, not when he had never done that for her,

"Answer me honestly," she senses the change in tact, the way he doesn't want to continue that line of questioning. She tilts her head slightly, not agreeing but not refusing either. He runs his hands over his chin, before planting them in his lap, balled in to fists to prevent their restless movement, "why don't you want to give up work and don't give me all that crap about the ward needing you, I want the truth?" the words come in a rush from his mouth, and she wishes he had asked any question but that. She swallows hard.

"How many nieces and nephews have you got Jonny?" instead of answering, she questions him and sees the confusion pass across his face. Then she sees the cogs turning as he tries to calculate the number, presumably trying to factor in any new arrivals that had not featured the last time he was asked. Perhaps in a few months time, one of his sisters would be factoring their child in to such a calculation.

"5" he says finally with a smile.

"and what did your sisters do when they were on maternity leave?" again she questions him and he looks confused for a moment before he smiles.

"Besides run to the toilet every five minutes, and complain you mean?" she shoots him a dirty look at that, one which is met by a cheeky smile, "well I suppose they went shopping a lot, y'know Caz almost gave birth in mothercare she was there so much, and Matt - Soph's husband - joked she could go in to decorating after all the work she did on the nursery" there's a happiness in his voice as he talks of his family and these little things and it breaks her heart a little to hear it.

"Don't you get it Jonny?" she asks quietly, allowing the pen to drop back on to the desk, the object sickening her. Instead she lets her hands fall back to her abdomen, to feel those small movements that let her know her daughter is awake.

"Get what?" he looks genuinely confused before a smile once more dances on his lips, "and with each one, Granny tried to teach them to knit but not one of them can, not even a stitch and poor granny would knit something pink everytime and not one of them has had a girl ..." and then the smile widens, as his brain twigs that he is indeed having a baby daughter.

"Jonny" she draws out his name, and he becomes less animated, "think about me, us" she strokes her bump silently willing her daughter not to be listening.

"I don't understand," he shakes his head, lost in the conversation.

'yet you are the only one who should understand' she wishes she could say that aloud. He is the only other person who should be able to understand and know what is going on inside of her head and yet he is sitting opposite her clueless as to why maternity leave is not an appealing prospect - other than the not having to leave her bed other than for toilet breaks.

"Your sisters, your granny, they knew they were going to get to bring their baby home" the words come quietly, so quietly she isn't even sure she's spoken them aloud, "I can't sit in my flat and look at the bare room that may never be used as our daughter's nursery even though I've already decided that's what it is, I can't buy her things that she may never need and then have to give it away, I can't sit on my own everyday just thinking about the what ifs, wondering if this is the day I'm going to lose her and trying to work out what the hell I'm going to do when I do" she looks away from him, turning her chair to face in the other direction so that he cannot see the tears that have welled in her eyes and threaten to fall.

"Jac" his voice sounds closer, and she feels hands rest against her shoulders, feels a gentle pressure as her chair is twisted back round and she is left having to face him. She could push him away, but she cannot quite bring herself too, "this is why I need you to look after yourself," he reaches to wipe away tears she hadn't even noticed begin to fall.

She shakes her head not comprehending.

"What happens when she's born Jac?" she looks down, away from him, "when you don't have her inside of you to sustain, when you don't have her to fight for" he's breathing hard, trying to contain emotions that are so close to the surface.

"I've managed before," but it's not really the truth. She's survived, she gives her body enough to keep it going, to get her through the day. She's come to learn that she doesn't need much, that she can run on the highs of the job. It doesn't keep much to keep a shell going.

"Look at me, Jac" and rather than give her the choice, he places a hand under her chin and tilts it upwards, "you've never looked after yourself properly, but I can't watch you waste away, not this time" his eyes shine back at hers, She thinks of those weeks after her endometriosis diagnosis, when she had slipped in to old ways, when nothing seemed to matter anymore because her body was as damaged as her soul - not that she entirely believed in the existence of a soul. No instead she had slipped in to a world where all that mattered was her work, but she had found that in those weeks things that would once had caused a shard of joy made her feel more hollow than before. The realisation had dawned that perhaps there was more to life, and more importantly that she wanted that.

"I won't ..." but the words sound empty.

"Every day that our daughter fights, I am going to be there by her side and yours, and if the day comes when she is struggling and she is losing her fight, I can't be watching you fall too" he swallows hard, "our daughter she doesn't get a choice, Jac, she can't chose but you, you don't have to make this harder on yourself"

"Make this harder, how can this be any harder?" as she talks salty tears fall in to her mouth. He shakes his head once more.

"We are in one of the worst situations imaginable, and I can't fix that and neither can you, but Jac, you don't have to be superwoman, you don't have to prove to me or to Mo or to Elliot that you can do this because we know, just as we know you are absolutely terrified but you can't go on like this" he pauses for breath, taking her hand in his, "neither of us can,"

"Jonny," she whispers his name, but he barely hears, sinking down on to his knees in front of her.

" I am terrified Jac, terrified that I am going to lose the best thing that has ever happened to me," tears start to roll unashamedly down his cheeks as he holds their hands against her abdomen, "and I am terrified about what that is going to do to you, because,"

"Because what Jonny?" somehow she chokes out the words, and he swallows hard.

"Because I know she's all you've got," with careful fingers, he strokes the skin of her hand. She squeezes his hand as best she can, trying to make sense of those words, "I know there's Elliot, and Mo, and Me but this baby, she was gonna be yours and I don't think I've ever seen so much love in a person's eyes as I see in yours for our daughter"

The tears threaten to choke her.

"I know I've let you down, the both of you" he shakes his head mournfully, "and I can't ever go back, but for what it's worth I'm sorry" he could reel of a list of things for which he apologises but it isn't needed, she understands. She understands that it goes back before their daughter's conception, and that it extends to the present day.

"I'm sorry too" she whispers the words that feel so unfamiliar on her tongue. An apology for pushing him in to making choices he probably wouldn't have made, an apology for not being the woman he needed her to be.

"Jac Naylor, apologising, I should get out my phone and record it," he smiles shakily, a watery smile that doesn't quite extend to his eyes. She forces her own lips to do the same.

"It's a one time deal Maconie," she answers, finally freeing her hands from his.

"Y'know my granny's got a wee cottage we could have for a few days" he rocks back a way, and at her raised eyebrow he smiles, "she's not there so no knitting lessons for you, just a couple of days rest" its a tempting offer but one she cannot take.

"Maybe you should take Bonnie," the words are soft, and as she says them she has to force herself not to let on any emotions. The idea of her meeting his family when she never has, despite the fact she carries his child, when at one point they were contemplating a life together.

"I'm not sure .." he warily eyes her bump, and she pats it gently,

"I've had no signs of labour, and Scotland isn't a million miles away and this is a first labour" she smiles wryly "besides a child that's half you and half me is hardly going to give me an easy ride is she so you'll have plenty of time to get back"

"I probably can't even get the time off," he argues slightly,

"but you suggested it to me" she answers almost instantly, and she sees in his face that she has beaten him with that.

"I suppose I did" he shakes his head, cursing his stupidity. She offers him another smile.

"Go enjoy yourself, and do all those annoyingly Scottish things you enjoy so much" she swallows not wanting to give in to the tears again, "and we'll see you when you get back, maybe you can bring her back a teddy bear or something" it's the first suggestion she's made of buying something for the baby, and it brings a momentary look of surprise to his face, before he nods and grins.

"A wee one in tartan" he sounds genuinely quite excited, "and perhaps a wee outfit for her too, she'll be the best dressed baby in NICU, our girl"

"You can go now" she's suddenly tired and, even more than before, she wants to be alone. He nods and pulls himself up, walking to the door. With his back turned, a tear slips free but she bats it hastily away as he turns back to her,

"You sure your going to be ok?"

"I'll have Elliot, and Mo, and Sacha" she sighs, "and Mr Thompson is sniffing around Mo again so no doubt he'll be close at hand too" it's becoming a little bit frustrating, the ever increasing presence of her obstetrician / gynaecologist. Jonny smiles at that, seemingly reassured.

"and I'll call you as soon as I'm back?"

"We'll look forward to it," she forces herself to smile at him, not wanting to think of the hours she's likely to while away watching her telephone and waiting for his call, to hear his voice once more. It isn't really her role to do that now, it should be Bonnie and yet she knows that is exactly what she'll end up doing though she'll probably slip in a quick nap.

"You look after yourself,"

"I will Jonny" and with a smile and a wave he walks out of the office, leaving her in silence once more. She turns her chair, twisting it so she is facing the window rather than the door, so that anyone entering will see only her back and she'll have enough time to hide the evidence of her tears. As her eyes studying the sky, already tinged red and orange with the fading day, she feels the tears begin to fall. Her arms forming a cradle around the bulge that is her daughter.

"It's just you and me" she whispers, and while she wishes it were different, she cannot help but feel a sense of peace settle over her.


End file.
